Poetry selection from the 2007 issue
All is Food
by Nathan Leslie
Aside from concrete and stone, all is food.
Watch a hog root, a crow swoop for food.
The trees, the grass, soil, water, dung
are for something or someone the right food.
Pythagoras was onto something; but would you
rather have the number eight or food?
In Quebec City: crepes three meals a day;
I dream of farfalle, quenelle, and spiced food.
I make a mess: mulligan stew, baking bread, pies.
Time to learn nan and pot stickers, Greek food.
Once my fat roommate would make ratatouille,
simmering tomatoes and eggplant, health food.
The calm of chowder, of lasagna, and basmati rice;
eating or making or smelling—all is food.
Eat satays and ragout, gnocchi and bisque;
someday arthropods and beetles will digest us, food.
For now, how often can we forget our name
in the scents and textures, in the beauty of food?